Frost on the Pumpkin

Radio question of the day: nearly 10 per cent of women don't trust their mates when it comes to this?

I heard this on the way to meet my friend for our morning walk. So I steered with my knees while calling in to the radio station. I guessed anything. But I was wrong again. So then I guessed that probably 99 per cent of women don't trust their mates when it comes to anything. But the radio guys didn't know about that. Those guys. I'm probably right on that part.

There was frost this morning. Not at my house, but only a mile away driving through the cornfield to the park, there was frost. Beautiful time of year. And it's going to be a beautiful day.

Happy Halloween and Happy Day to you.


Answer to the radio question of the day: doing the laundry. That comes under the "anything" category, doesn't it? I shoulda won. Heck. Cheated again.

 

Happy Birthday Aral (ap3)

Happy Birthday to my beautiful baby girl, Aral.

Aral was a joy as a baby. She never had to be told "no." Honest. She was just a good kid.

She was smart -- valedictorian of her high school class, spelling bee champ, National Honor Society member,etc. Athletic: earned 6 varsity letters. And she was well regarded by her classmates. On the Senior Class ballot she was voted most respected, most reliable, best student, and most likely to succeed. She was Vice-President of the senior class, President of the Student Council, and editor-in-chief of the Yearbook.

I could go on, but I don't wanta brag or nothin'. I'm embarrassing her of course. I just love her to pieces.

Happy Birthday Baby.

 

Trick-or-Treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat

Radio question of the day: About 80 percent of us occasionally do this while driving?


My daughter Aral (ap3) tells me that some places actually have trick-or-treat night on October 31st. What will they think up next?

Where we live, each year the various communities pick a date for trick or treat night. Our TOT was last night, Thursday.

I was busy installing all the things on my PC that the PC hospital failed to reinstall. They reformatted the PC and boy it sure is running fast! So I'm not complaining. But since I had taken in all the disks I had with all my programs, I had just sorta assumed that for the hundred bucks I paid them that they would reinstall things like WORD. Those guys. They're a busy bunch of jokers. Guess maybe the help-wanted sign in the window shoulda tipped me off.

Took about two hours to figure out all that I wanted to put back, like WORD and the printer, and then reinstall them, but I think I'm good now. Haven't checked the scanner though. It's probably not installed come to think of it.

Anyhow, where was I before you interrupted me with this PC crap?

Oh, yeah. Trick-or-Treat. I'm upstairs in the "study" as my husband Niks refers to it. Okay, so it's lined wall-to-wall with bookshelves and has a big desk. It's a computer room. Ain't no studying goin' on in here. Who the heck has a "study?" He needs to get over himself. So, I'm on the second floor and the front door to our silly house is on the main floor. Some smart architect.

So I'm running up and down, up and down, to answer the door for two hours. Kids are allowed to trick-or-treat for only the two hours from 6 PM to 8 PM. It's been a long time since we have had that many kids on our fake Halloween. Some were obviously trucked in. I know that our town now has a couple of minority families, but I had several groups that are not living here. I don't mind that. They were polite and fun to see.

It was a nice evening and I'm sure that I lost weight on the stairs. That's a good thing.


Radio question answer: Steer with their knees. You guys! Stop that!

I'm Baaaaacccckkkk

Hey you guys! I picked up my PC today. It's all better. Haven't been able to get my new printer to load yet, but that's minor.

But for some dumb reason, my husband thinks I should go buy something to cook for supper before I get busy with my real work in life: reading blogs!

So, see ya later.

 

No PC. *sob*

I'm at Coyote Joe's Cafe. Drinkin' coffee and cryin' 'cause I just left my PC at the PC hospital.

I'm going to miss it while it's away.

I'll lurk and possibly comment while it's in the shop. I'm in withdrawal already. But it had to be done.

They don't shoot PCs, do they?

Blowing in the wind

Question of the day on the radio:
Q: We will probably do this for 8 minutes this week?

Today at the big new Giant Grocery Store that opened in our town, I noticed three grocery carts that had been left in the parking lot. That's not normal. It's also not right. People here return the carts to their proper places.

The store is huge and different and exciting. Yep. An exciting grocery store. It passes for entertainment in these parts. But the carts left stranded in various places in the big parking lot are a sign of something. Change.

I'm not usually against change. And I like "different." But I like change that is better. Different should be better too.

People who don't live in our borough are being drawn to the store. Of course. It's not like anything else around here and it has been touted in the Harrisburg newspaper, and so on. Big Ballyhoo. (Oh, I've waited forever to use that word!) So folks from "across the river" are coming. Too bad they don't realize that they are giving themselves a bad name here by not doing the expected "correct" thing. Makes me sad.

At the store I bought a nice big basket full of fruit to give to my new next-door neighbor. They seem like very nice folks. They moved here from a suburb of Houston, Texas. I gave them a book on Pennsylvania Historical sites too. They have four kids. It's a big house. Now that I think about it, most of the houses here are big. That's 'cause the folks who built them all had kids.

They asked if they could trim the branches that are on their side of the row of about fifteen trees that separate our back yards. I'm big-hearted so I said sure. At some point I will be sure to mention to them that the trees are actually theirs. I don't want to overwhelm them with too much information right away. Wouldn't be prudent.

We've lived in our home for 33 years. Now there is only one couple on the street that was here when we came. They are the original owners of that house. They're pretty old and not all that well. They're next to go I imagine.

A "boy" who I saw hit a home run when he was 12 bought Mrs. Keller's house when she had to go into a nursing home. That's kitty-cornered from us. He's the mayor of our borough now. And the former Lillian Smith lives on our street too. I remember her from when she was in the third grade. She was an overweight sour kid. She's a thin, sweet mother of two now.

So many changes. In the beginning everyone had kids. Then all the kids were gone. Now there are kids on the street again. That's a good thing. That's a good change.

Little people to knock on my door and sell me magazines and cookies and decorative candles for school and scout fundraisers. *Sigh*.

Decorative candles. Puke.



Answer to radio question of the day:
Wait in line at the grocery store.

This is going down hill, fast.

Did you have a sled when you were a kid? Before we moved to Pennsylvania, we would take our kids to the snow in the mountains in Southern California. They loved to play in the snow.

Our son Nivek was seven years old when he found out we were moving to PA. That was 1972 and Sears, Roebuck and Company still put out a catalog. Without my knowing it, he got my catalog and ordered a sled for himself. When I saw the Sears delivery truck stop outside and the deliveryman start up our side walk to the house, I wondered what the heck was going on. Nivek sped by me to reach the door first. He knew exactly how much he needed to pay to collect his COD delivery, and he had that exact amount in his little hand. The kid was smart.

If you live where it snows you might remember snowy evenings as a kid. Several inches of snow would fall through the night and you couldn't wait to get up the next morning figuring that school was going to be canceled and you would be able to play in the snow, and go sledding.

On Saturday, Niks and I went a few miles up the river to a town named Duncannon. It's the home of The Old Sled Works. The place was first called Standard Novelty Works and opened in 1904. They made the famous Lightning Guider sleds from 1904-1990. Before 1904 when the Flexible Flyer was invented, sleds didn't steer. "The sled that steers," ushered in the modern sledding age, and finally enabled kids to control their downhill destiny. The Old Sled Works has a small museum of old sleds and the equipment used to make them.

We actually have two old sleds hanging in our garage: the one that was Nivek's and one that was my husband Niks' when he was a boy. When we moved here we discovered Niks' old sled in his mother's garage. Of course no one uses the old wood and steel sleds anymore.

The Old Sled Works now mainly is home to antique and craft vendors. It's a trip back in time for sure. I love looking at the antiques. I have almost no interest in buying antiques, but I have fun looking at them. A lot of it is pure junk of course, white elephants and off-white elephants in my judgment. I got a kick out of an early dentist chair. It looks like some kinda old torture device. Who would buy a medal dentist chair? No padding of any kind, anywhere on it. It's comparatively tiny too. In fact, looking at a lot of this stuff points out how much smaller folks used to be.

The old factory building now has a working old-time penny arcade and a soda fountain. Jimmy's Old-Fashioned Soda Fountain is an authentic 1950's fountain that once operated as a drugstore counter in Harrisburg. At Jimmy's you can get a real phosphate soda, and the best milkshakes and floats, made using vintage equipment. You get to watch The Three Stooges on old Philco Predicta TV there too. Columbia Pictures rented several items from Jimmy as props for Girl Interrupted.

I bought two souvenir spoons there. I collect souvenir spoons. Not on purpose. I had a coupla spoons that my mother-in-law gave me. You can't get rid of something your MIL gave you, right? So anyway, one day two or three years ago, my friend Chris shows up, just as pleased as punch with herself. She had scored a coup with a yard sale purchase of vintage, still-in-their-boxes souvenir spoons. Musta been 20 or more. She had seen the two spoons that I had and decided that I collect them. Sooooo, of course, I had to smile, say thanks, and keep them forever. Just recently, I met her for coffee -- remember the don't-answer-the-door-for-Owen caper?

That Chris. That day. Anyway, she had gone to an auction. The woman has too much time on her hands.

Maybe too much money too, 'cause she had bought me more spoons. This batch included a Dennis the Menace spoon. Never knew they made sterling silver Dennis the Menace spoons. OooKKKaayy. Now I officially collect souvenir spoons. Question is, do I hafta display them?

Maybe a better question is, do I ever tell Chris that I didn't really collect these darn spoons?

Rated X. Speechless in PA

Too lazy to post.

Okay, okay, ...all right, already...

dddragon is nagging me. But who cares about that? Not me. It's the threats that got me. So here is the tag thingie. As if you care.

Twenty things about me:

1. I'm 23,330 days old today, October 15, 2005
2. If I live until August 16, 2007, I'll be 24,000 days old. I like round numbers.
3. I like everything in its place, and clean.
4. I volunteer at a Food Pantry.
5. I volunteer at a low-income Senior Center teaching crafts.
6. I teach Sunday School.
7. I person-sit once a week for daughter dddragon's Mother-in-law, who has Alzheimer's.
8. I love piano music, but can't stand organ music.
9. I love baseball and softball and will watch any team play, including Little League.
10. I like to read. A lot. Happiness is being in the middle of a good book.
11. I like to hike. Being outside is a wonderful thing.
12. I dig rock and roll music. Peter Paul And Mary's song and the genre. I figure it's about the happiest sound goin' down today.
13. My family is the most important thing in my life.
14. I'm married to a heck of a nice man.
15. I don't want to live forever, but I want to know stuff that won't be discovered until I'm long gone.
16. I fervently believe that human beings are destroying the earth, and will pay for it. I believe that the people who will end up paying for this pollution are not the ones making it.
17. I was a brat as a kid. I know: you're shocked.
18. I've been known to play practical jokes. Like when I iced a tin box and made it look as if it were a birthday cake. I did this to a boyfriend of Acton Bell's, even though they had just started dating. She married him. Couldn't scare him away.
19. I used to cheat when I played cards with daughter AP3. I cheated so that she would win. Now she tells me she used to think I was cheating-- Period. She thought that I was cheating her in order to win for myself. *Sigh.*
20. I used to think that my twin granddaughters are the two cutest, sweetest, most magical creatures in the world. They have not managed to change my mind on that.

Playing tag

I was the youngest of four kids in my birth family. All girls. Mama said that I’d always be her baby. No matter how old I got.

I milked that for all it was worth.

When we'd play something like tag, as soon as I was tagged to be "it." I'd quit. I'm talkin' about when I was really little, like 4 and 5 years old. My sisters would complain about it, but Mama would take my side. I was the baby.

One day we were in our front yard playin' tag. A whole bunch of other kids, all older than I, were playing with us. Finally I'm caught. Right away I say, "I'm tired. I don't want to play anymore."

The sisters say that I can't quit. I have to play until I catch someone, then I can quit. Like that. 'Course, I know that if I catch someone then I won't want to quit. But, right now, I do want to quit. Don't want to be it.

I whine. Mama's sittin' on the front porch. She says, "Let her quit. She's tired. She's just little and she can't run as long as you girls can."

Oldest sister Mary says, "She knows exactly what she's doing. She'll quit and then after someone else is 'it' she'll want to play again."

Whoooops! I whipped my head back around to look at Mama, sure that now Mama would be on to me! I almost got whiplash. But Mama, sweet tiny Mama just smiled her Mona Lisa smile and looked at me. "No. She won't do that."

Well, because of Mama's faith in me, I sat out a couple of other people being "it." Then of course I put myself right back in the game. After all, I was the baby.

I've just been tagged with two tags. But I'm not going to be "it." Mama says I don't have to. That Mama. So sweet.

I'm still the baby. Mama said I'd always be her baby. So there. ;-P

Happy Day to Dddragon and her husband

Radio Question of the Day: About 10-thousand people obtain this every year, but never use it?

October 12, 2005 is the 20th anniversary of our daughter, dddragon and her husband. Well, of course, if it's her anniversary, then it follows that it would be his too. DUH.

The photo above was taken, obviously, on October 12, 1985. And that's the way we were. Twenty ago. Niks, Me, Dddragon, Son-in-law

*****************
Later: Just got from having dinner with friends and find that this brat has tagged me. Hrmpf. I don't like bein' it. But what can I do? Guess I'll play along...but not today.


Answer to the radio question: a marriage license Huh! Who knew?

Long time ago

There's a new supermarket opening nearby, this Wednesday. It's a Giant. Giant is the name of the chain. But it is a giant. It's the biggest grocery store I've seen in Pennsylvania. It will have a coffee shop with internet access and a fireplace, a café, a Weight-Watchers, a child care center, a community room, some sort of work-out place, a bank, a dry cleaners, two nutritionists, a chef's grill, carving station and take-out/eat-in meals, a cooking school, an in-house Staples store, an in-house Hallmark card shop, of course a drive-through pharmacy, oh, the list seems endless. All of this IN the store. Inside the store. Amazing. To me anyway.

You know at the beginning of the 20th century, grocery stores in the U.S. were "full service." A customer would ask a clerk behind the counter for specific items and the clerk would package the stuff for them. Even the early chain stores were all entirely full-service.

But in 1916, a paradigm shift occurred in this kinda stuff. The idea of a "self-serving store" was actually patented. Seems like such an obvious idea. But it was patented. Don't know how you would patent it. Anyone could do it.

According to the Smithsonian Institution, the first real supermarket in the U.S. was opened in 1930. Now I'm sure in the north, that these things became very common, very quickly.

But I was raised in the south. We were way behind the north in those days.

My very first school field trip was to a new fangled idea place: a supermarket. This would have been probably in 1946. Forty-five five-year-olds held hands and walked two-by-two a few blocks down to this new thing. We got a tour and a spiel about how wonderful this was and how it was something called "the wave of the future." That meant zip to us.

My Mama still did her shopping at a store where she called in her order like this:
"About a half pound of ground beef, a few slices of bologna, a half-dozen eggs, a can of peas..." Like that. She coulda ordered 4 eggs. That would have been okay. You didn't have to buy them in a particular quantity.

A black man named John would deliver the groceries at some point during the day. It didn't matter when. Mama was home. Mama was always home.

You could go down to the store and pick out your own stuff, but why bother? But once when Mama was in a sort of a hurry for some eggs, she sent me down to get some. At the store the eggs were just out in a big box thing. Beside that was a stack of egg cartons. You just picked out the eggs you wanted and put them into a carton and took them up to the old-fashioned counter.

I was 6 at the time. I can still see my little hands reaching into the egg box and picking up eggs. I didn't know how to handle them. I crushed at least a dozen eggs trying to get the half-dozen she had told me to get. I would reach in and truly try to be gentle, but my little fingers didn't know how. My fingers would just break right into an egg. Try again. Break another one. FINALLY the jerk at the counter moved his lazy butt and came out and got them for me. There was a pretty good mess goin' on by this time.

When the monthly grocery bill came, he had charged Mama for all the ones I had broken. We were poor, and this was quite a blow to her. I'm talkin' poor. I hadn't told her about the ones I had broken because the guy hadn't fussed at me or anything. The day the bill came was a sad day for me. Mama didn't yell at me. She was an easy Mama. I just knew that money was not something we had, and I was sad that I had caused her this woe.

She stopped using that store. A new store called a supermarket --Mack's Grocery Store -- soon opened fairly nearby. You couldn't call in your order there, but they did deliver the stuff to you after you had come in and picked it all out yourself and paid for it. It seemed like such a big store at the time, but it was about the size of a modern 7-11.

My memory of Mack's is a big jar of jellybeans. This was a HUGE jar of jellybeans. There was a contest to guess how many beans were in the jar. It wasn't just a contest for kids; grown-ups entered too. I was a pretty smart little kid. I didn't just take a wild guess. I studied the jar. I won.

But not the jellybeans. The prize was a big ol' doll. I wasn't a doll-type girl. I wanted the jellybeans. I gave the doll to my sister Bonnie. She loved it. A girlie-girl for sure.
That Bonnie. I was smart. She was lucky.

Bad Hair Day. As if that were new.

Listening to soft rock in the morning. Radio question of the day: 45 thousand North Americans are injured by this each year. What is it?

I don't even have a guess. I'll just have to wait and ponder and see what the answer is. Half the time I'm no longer listening when the answer is finally revealed. So you might never know the answer. 'Course if you were doing something better with your time right now, you wouldn't even know the question. So you're 50 percent ahead right now.

My hair seems life-threatening this morning. Life-threatening to folks who have to look at it, which I never do. Well, that part's a lie. Not the part in my hair. That's true enough. Well, not true as in straight. I'm not gonna be all hung up on a straight part in my hair. In fact it doesn't actually have a part. Exactly.

Where was I?

I was talkin' about something or other here. Let's s...oh yeah, the part, as in portion, of what I was sayin' that is a lie, is that I never look at my hair. I do catch glimpses now and again. That's why I know that it is in a bad stage.

Some people would argue that worrying about what your hair looks like is idiotic. Oh, wait. I am those people. Never mind.

My mother, who we called Mama, worried about her hair all the time. Mama hated windy days because her hair might get messed up. She got a perm the day before she died. She died at age 91. At the time I remember thinking how pleased she would be that she looked nice. Wouldn't want to hit the undertaker's table on a bad-hair day.

Once she introduced me to someone and she pointed out to them that my hair was whiter than hers. That Mama. Always braggin' on me.

Every now and then I wonder why I don't dye my hair. Then it hits me: "Oh that's right! I'm too lazy." You can't just dye your hair once and be done with it. You have to keep after it. Touch up the roots. Like that. Some people get their hair highlighted. But I wonder if that doesn't imply that they feel that some strands are more important than others. I don't want half-conceited hair. Don't want half-disgruntled hair either.

It's raining. Hard. Very hard. So no walk outside today. All this fret over hair just to go down to the basement and trod on the treadmill. But, see, you never know where the fashion police might be.

By a toilet. No, silly. The fashion and hair police aren't by a toilet. Might be IN the toilet, but not just hanging around a toilet.

A toilet injures 45 thousand North Americans each year. Happy to say, I've never been one of them.

Early morning musing

My walking buddy Irene and I have agreed that it's just about too dark to walk at 6:30 AM these days. So we were supposed to start today at 6:45 instead. Only today I forgot and went to the park at 6:30 as usual.

Right away I realized my mistake 'cause she's not there, and she's not a person who's late. Oh, well. Gives me time to think. I don't think a whole lot, so's this is gonna be a good chance for me.

I was hearing on the car radio something about a stock car race, and before that I had been hearing something else about oil in Iran, or some other place over there somewhere-or-other. And I got to wondering: Did the three wise men have oil stickers on their robes? Or would those advertisement oil stickers be on their camels instead?

Question of the day on the radio is "What book is the most stolen from libraries?"

I call in using my cell phone and guess "The Bible." I'm a cynic. I'm also wrong.

Somebody else calls and guesses "The telephone book." Wrong again.

One day last week the question of the day was The five most stolen items in a drugstore are batteries, cosmetics, film, sunglasses, and what?

The answer was Preparation H. Apparently people are just too embarrassed to purchase it at the counter.

Irene arrives and we walk. After she drops out and goes home I realize why so many people speak to me after she leaves. It's later. More people are in the park. They don't get up before the sun the way we do. Simple answer.

Walking alone I begin to ponder stuff again. Whatever happened to Dan Quayle? Husband Niks and I often quote him whenever one of us has trouble figuring something out. One of us will say, "A mind is a terrible thing."

Do you remember when he was all het up about a fictional character on TV, Murphy Brown, being pregnant and unwed? He said things like, "Republicans understand the importance of bondage between parent and child." That Dan. You know his daddy's proud.

Wish I were saying to myself, "Whatever happened to George W. Bush?" No such luck. Then I would say, remember when ol' "W" said:
"Too many good docs are getting out of the business. Too many OB-GYNs aren't able to practice their love with women all across this country."
He really is dumber than a mud fence.

Time to go home. First I call the radio station to see what the answer was to the question of the day.

The Guinness Book of Records holds the record for being the book most often stolen from public libraries.
Go figure.


Edit: If you get bored today check this out. Ol' Georgie boy at his best:
http://www.badmash.org/videos/videos_flv.php?v=george_bush_512K_Stream

Who the heck am I?

As I've mentioned before, I walk in a park each morning with my friend Irene. Irene just walks a little over two miles, and then drops out and goes home. I keep walking another two miles. While we're walking together, folks we encounter just smile or nod or say "good morning." Like that. I guess two of us together look too scary to approach or something like that.

After she leaves me, people, mostly men-people, are more apt to try to chat or walk along with me awhile. Guess one person alone must look lonely. These are not scary people so it's okay.

A few days ago a little old man, probably my age, came along with a big wicker basket. He limps a little. Well, he limps pretty much actually. He speaks with a heavy Russian-sounding accent. Told me that the park "Used to be farm." That's the way he put it. Not "This park used to be a farm." Just used a sweeping arm gesture and said, "Used to be farm." He told me that the basket was to gather turnip greens that still grow in scattered areas in the park.

He's right. After he showed me what turnip greens look like, and where-all they grow there, I can see that they do indeed still grow in abundance in the park. I already knew that the entire park, which is huge, was a former farm. He told me that he cooks them with bacon. Sounded pretty good.

The next morning, I swear I saw him leaving the park holdin' up a big ole possum by the tail. So I think he was lyin' about the bacon part.

Today, a guy came up the walkway towards me, and then stopped. "Didn’t you used to live in the Meadowlark Apartments?" he asked me.

"No. I didn’t," smiling, trying not to pause in my stride. But he's going to reverse his direction and walk along here with me a little, it's clear.

"Boy, you sure look just like a lady that used to live in the Meadowlark Apartments!"

“Right! I'm lying to you! I am that lady who used to....” That's what I felt like saying, but instead, I just repeated, "Sorry, not me."

Then he had to tell me that I have a twin somewhere and so on. And you know, I just might 'cause once before I retired I heard that too.

I was in line at the cafeteria at work when a woman who worked in the kitchen said to me, "Are you Ms. Robins?"

"No, I’m not."

"Really? Boy, you look just like Ms. Robins!"

I smile, trying to be nice and all, and that just doesn't come natural to me, ya know? But I'm trying: "No, my name isn't Robins. Sorry."

"Are you SURE you aren’t Ms. Robins? Because you sure look like Ms. Robins."

"Oh, wait!" I make a big show out of looking inside my blazer jacket, at the lining, and say, "My mother pins a note inside my jacket everyday with my name on it. Just let me check. Nope. No, I’m not Ms. Robins after all!"

She didn't smile back. After me tryin' to be nice and all. Huh! Some people.
You just can't be nice to some people.

What I do while Niks is getting dressed for church

Today is STILL Ol’ Hoss' birthday! Hoo Boy. The party just goes on and on.

Somehow, I did not get my slice of the cake. Hoss musta eaten it all. That Hoss.

But since I'm feeling better and I (have to) get to teach Sunday School this morning, I thought I'd just pop in here while Niks is getting dressed and put up some stupid post or other. So that's what I'm doing now. Just puttin' up a dumb post to waste your time. Is it working?

How much time have you wasted here? Huh? Think about it. You outta be doing something else worthwhile right this minute.

I shouldn't have put the “else” in that sentence. 'Cause that implies that this is worthwhile. And we know that it's not. Worthwhile, I'm sayin'. So I should have just said: You outta be doing something worthwhile right this minute.

But, wait! You just learned an important English lesson. So that's worthwhile. Okay, then. All rightie. I don't feel so bad. Oh. Just remembered. All of you knew that lesson already. You guys. So smart.

You make Tan Lucy proud.

You should be shamed of yourselves if you're still reading this down here. I know that Hoss quit.

Happy Birthday to Ol' Hoss

When I wrote that I would not be posting again until Monday, I forgot that today and tomorrow are Ol' Hoss' birthdays. He gets to have two on accounta he's so special. That guy.

His story is that his mother always told him that his birthday was October 2, so that's when he celebrated his birthday. Then about 14 years ago he got his hands on his birth certificate and saw that his birth date was recorded as October 1, 1930. Seems the doctor who delivered him was a little behind. Not gonna say that the shock of little Hoss' behind shocked the shit and the sense outta the doctor. That would be rude. I’m not like that. Usually.

Anyway, seems that ol' Hoss has discovered a way to celebrate for two whole days. He’s pretty smart; I’ll give him that. Pretty damn funny, too. And I mean that in the best possible way. Naturally. Me bein' so polite and all.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO HOSS!